"I'm on patrol tomorrow."

"After work? Or lunchtime?"

Hadley sighed. "Okay. Lunch."

"Thanks." Clare winked. "I promise I won't tell Lyle about your mad crush."

"Oh, my God! Reverend Clare!"

XXIV

This time, Clare arranged the visit with the McGeochs first. "Oh, yes, please." Janet flapped the stack of forms she'd gotten from the financial office. "I know they've all been sick with worry and grief, but I've been so caught up with everything going on here"-she waved at the CCU waiting room-"I haven't had a chance to think about what the men might want to do. I'll talk with Octavio. He'll have them ready for you."

When she pulled into the deserted barnyard the next day, Clare realized she should have asked where he'd have them ready. The noonday heat buffeted her when she got out of the car, making her converted-to-clericals sundress-a loose linen shift falling from dog collar to ankles-feel like a burka. She retrieved a sack of deli sandwiches and a small cooler of drinks from her backseat. Shut the door. Turned at the sound of tires and saw Hadley's squad car swinging into the barnyard. Dust tumbled behind her wheels as she rolled to a stop next to Clare.

"I don't suppose the barn is air-conditioned," Hadley said, by way of a greeting.

" 'Fraid not."

"Here, let me take one of those." Hadley hoisted the cooler. "You brought lunch?"

"I didn't want anyone to miss out because of the meeting." Clare took a step away from Hadley. "iHola!" she shouted. "Octavio?"

There was a faint sound of voices in response. "That way." Hadley pointed. They headed for the far side of the barn. "God, it's hot. I don't remember it being this warm when I summered here as a kid."

"You weren't in a uniform and boots when you were a kid."

"Yeah"-she sounded disgruntled-"Well…"

They rounded the corner. The men sat at the far end of the barn, in the double shade of its three stories and its silo. Behind them, a two-rut lane ran past a cornfield and disappeared down a slope toward the old farmhouse. Clare could see its roof, floating above the sheaves.

"Hola." The workers were clustered in a ragged semicircle, bagged lunches spread out on the lush grass. Clare set her offering in the middle and plopped down, facing them. Decided the coolness of the spot made up for the smell of manure pervading the air. Hadley opened the cooler, took out a bottle of water, and lowered herself carefully, wrestling the bits and pieces of her gun belt out of her way.

"Go ahead," she said, twisting the top off the water. "You talk, I'll translate."

Clare took a deep breath. "Amado's death is a great loss," she began.

One of the men cut her off with a sharply worded question. Hadley answered him. He said something else, angry, accusing. Hadley replied at length, measuring out her words, her voice patient.

It was Octavio, Clare realized. The foreman. She had noticed his resemblance to Amado the first time she met him. Had thought then they might be related. "What's going on?" she asked Hadley.

"He wants to know what's happening with the investigation. How come we haven't caught Amado's killers yet."

"Ask him if he's one of Amado's family."

"¿Sois parientes?" Hadley said.

"¿Emparentado? ¿Emparentado?" He sprang to his feet. "Yo soy Amado Esfuentes. Mí."

What in the world?

Hadley's mouth opened. "He says-"

"I got that. Who was my Amado, then?"

Octavio-the real Amado-didn't need that translated. "Mi hermano. Mi hermano, Octavio."

"Brothers," Hadley said, before rattling off another question. Amado's face twisted as he answered her. He spread his hands. His tone, his pain, translated for him. I thought I was doing the right thing.

"He was the one with the employment papers," Hadley said. "He swapped them with his little brother the night of the accident, so Amado-Octavio-wouldn't be deported."

"Oh, dear Lord." She had been there, just where Amado was, eating the bitter fruit of good intentions. It was a meal that lodged in your throat and never went away. "Lo siento, Amado. I am so, so sorry."

Hadley asked him a question. Clare caught the words "Punta Diablos." Amado frowned. Said something. Clare caught the word "Christies." Hadley replied to him.

"What?" Clare asked.

"I'm trying to find out if he knew why the Punta Diablos were interested in his brother. He's confused. He was under the impression the Christies killed Amado-Octavio. Damn, I'm never going to keep the names straight."

"Nobody told them?"

"We had other things going on!"

"What about Isabel Christie?" Clare wondered. "Did she-"

Amado tensed. "Isobel?"

She had said to Russ, He can't say boo to a woman. She had said to Lyle, So there was something there. Clare met Amado's dark eyes. "You." She pointed to him. "It was you and Isabel."

His gaze shifted away. He glanced at the men sitting around them, their faces divided between worry and interest. Hadley stood. "Amado," she began. Clare got to her feet as well, wishing like hell her languages weren't limited to written Greek and Hebrew. With dictionaries by her side.

She was good at reading faces, though. As Hadley spoke, Amado's altered, from stony to pained, to horrified. He was hearing how his brother died. Clare laid her hand on Hadley's arm. "Go easy," she said.

"I want him to understand what's at stake. There are more of those guys out there. If he knows anything, we have to have it."

Amado straightened. He looked at the sky, the blue leached away in the heat of the sun. He looked at the other men. He looked at Hadley. "Come." He turned and strode toward the bunkhouse.

"What?" Clare said, hurrying to catch up.

"I don't know." Hadley hustled after her. The grass in the lane was brittle, the strawflowers and Queen Anne's lace already dry. The corn was stunted, with dull, cracked leaves.

"Tell him what I say, okay?" Clare lengthened her stride. "Amado. I met Isabel in the hospital. Did you know she had been wounded?"

Hadley spoke. Amado stumbled. Glanced over his shoulder at her. Resumed walking. "She is okay?"

"She was released on Friday." She paused, just long enough for Hadley to translate. "She thinks you're dead. It hit her hard. Very hard." She thought of the young woman's blank face while Hadley spoke and Amado replied in a low voice. The sense that Isabel had gone beyond caring.

"He says it's just as well." Hadley skip-hopped to keep up with them. They crested the rise. Below them, a thread of water trickled across the lane through a stony streambed. The bunkhouse baked in the sun beside it. "He says she's not for him and he's not for her. I dunno. Maybe she spun a romance out of a few meaningful glances?"

"I don't think so." Clare plunged forward and grabbed Amado's arm before he could enter the old farmhouse. Tugged him around to face her. She touched the silver cross hanging beneath her collar. Hoped the black and white would have an effect on him, even if she was an Anglican woman, and not a Roman man. "What if she's pregnant?"

Hadley copied her authoritarian tone.

Amado's mouth opened. "¿Embarazada?" He looked terrified and hopeful.

"Oh-ho," Hadley said. "You nailed that one on the head."

"Tell him I don't know. But he needs to come with me and let her see he's still alive. If he wants to break it off with her after that, fine."

He smoothed over his initial shock and listened to Hadley's translation with an impassive face. He looked at Clare. She stared back. "Okay," he finally said. "I go with you. For good-bye." He nodded stiffly and disappeared into the bunkhouse.

"Huh." Hadley propped her hand on her hip and fanned her face. "Me-thinks the lady doth protest too much. Or the man, in this case."